


Walk the Line

by somethinglikegumption



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Bughead - AU, Dark Betty Cooper, Detectives, F/M, Murder, Serial Killers, Tags Are Hard, bughead - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-14 07:27:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11778291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somethinglikegumption/pseuds/somethinglikegumption
Summary: Detective Jughead Jones has been on the hunt for a serial killer for two years. BC has always stayed one step ahead of him. Until that night.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The lovely and talented bughead4days made [this](http://bughead4days.tumblr.com/post/164044128851/detective-jughead-jones-falls-in-love-with-on-the) incredible edit and naturally, I had to write it. 
> 
> Please be gentle :)
> 
> I don’t own anything. 
> 
> TW: mentions of sexual assault and abuse, some language, and murder (duh.)
> 
> Find me on [Tumblr.](http://jordansconnor.tumblr.com)

It was quiet. Too quiet.

From his vantage point on the roof of the building across the street from the Pembrooke, there was no movement, but when dealing with killers, one could never be too careful.

He turned and looked at his partner. “Anything from the guys inside?”

She shook her head. “Radio silence, but no one in or out for the last hour. It looks clear.”

The plan had been to wait them out, but he was getting nervous. Something felt off, and his intuition had never steered him wrong before.

“I’m going in, Toni. They should have checked in ten minutes ago.”

“Jughead…”

He nearly sprinted down the stairs and across the street. Hiram Lodge was a shady man himself, but when he came to the station with the card, Jughead had no choice but to listen to him.

The pattern was always the same. It started with the warning card with the red rose. Two weeks would pass, and then a locked room, a body, and the signature, “BC”, written in the victim’s own blood on another white card.

Jughead had been working the murders for two years now, but each time he came close, the killer slipped away, leaving another dead body and the card in their wake. His supervisors were breathing down his neck, and if he didn’t come up with something soon, he’d be back to his desk doing paperwork while the real cases passed him by.

No way in hell would he go back to that.

As he entered the building, he looked for the officers he had stationed at the front desk and at the elevator. No one. _Something was definitely wrong._

Jughead stepped towards the elevator and pressed the button a few times. After no response, he took the stairs. Lodge lived in the penthouse, of course. Nothing but the best for Hiram Lodge. As he exited the stairwell, he found his feelings were correct. Each of his officers was handcuffed together in the elevator that he had waited for, held open by a decorative table pushed in between the doors.

“Toni, I need backup. They’re all tied up outside the apartment, have the team take the stairs since the elevator’s stuck,” Jughead spoke into the walkie talkie he pulled from his hip. “I’m going in.”

The door was slightly open, so he grabbed his gun from its holster and pushed the door a little farther open. Silent and dark. Not a good sign.

“Police! Come out with your hands up!” Jughead shouted into the living room. No response. He continued through the rooms, checking each until he reached the last room, the bedroom, took a deep breath and tried the door. Locked.

Keeping the gun ready in his hand, he leaned into the door. _One. Two. Three,_ he shouldered the door open and almost fell into the mess inside.

A soft, floral scent floating around the room. The open window letting in a light breeze. And Hiram Lodge, lying in a pool of his own blood.

“Shit.”

The execution-style bullet hole in the forehead and the white card with “B.C.” written in blood next to his body made it clear.

They had claimed another victim.

* * *

At some point, she had lost track of the names. Her only memory of them was their blank eyes as she left their corpses behind. They didn’t deserve to be remembered, given the destruction they had caused while alive.

This one, she’d never forget.

“Are you sure you want to take this one?” Ethel questioned softly.

“I need to do this, Ethel.” Betty stated.

“But maybe Ronnie or I -”

“No,” she interrupted firmly. “I put his name on the list. It has to be me. Those are the rules, the rules I created, and I need to follow them just like you.”

Ethel nodded, and quietly stepped out of the office.

Jason Blossom.

This time, it would be different.

* * *

 “Briefing. My office. Now,” Archie said as he passed by Jughead’s desk a few weeks later.

He looked at the clock and sighed. A briefing at 3 pm on a Friday with the newly appointed Sergeant Andrews meant that his crazy weekend plans of old BC murder reports and some leftover Chinese were going to be put on hold. He quickly grabbed his notepad and headed for Archie’s office.

As he knocked on the open door, Archie gestured to the chair in front of him. “Close the door before you sit down,” he said. This was new. Closed door meetings meant someone was probably going to be yelling at someone else before it was over. He just hoped he would be yelling at Archie and not the other way around.

“What’s up?” Jughead asked.

Archie grabbed a small square envelope from the top of a pile of papers on his desk and passed it to Jughead. He opened it up and found a formal invitation for some benefit gala scheduled for that night.

“Last time I checked, the department doesn’t pay me enough to be able to attend fancy parties like this.” In fact, they barely paid him enough to cover his apartment, student loans, and car payments. Any extra money he had, he sent to Jellybean to help pay her college tuition.

Archie leaned back in his chair. “Have you heard of Blossom Maple Syrup?”

“The Joneses are more of a Mrs. Butterworth’s family,” he said, “but yes, I’ve heard of it.”

“The son of the owners is the guest of honor at that party,” Archie shared. “He’s afraid for his safety after the Lodge murder and wants some police presence.”

“Tell him to hire a damn bodyguard,” He growled. “These spoiled rich brats - “

“Enough, Jughead.” Archie snapped. “If it were up to me, I’d tell him where he can shove it, but apparently there’s a sizable contribution for the department if we oblige. The captain isn’t turning that down, and there’s nothing you or I can do about it.”

“Fine,” he grumbled, “but why me? Can’t you just give them someone from traffic and be done with it?”

“Only the best for the Blossoms,” Archie said, smirking. “You’re going undercover. Get yourself a tux, and don’t even think about wearing the beanie.”

* * *

When she first started out, it was a favor to Ethel. Alice Cooper had never approved of their friendship in high school, since neither Ethel nor her family had anything to offer in terms of wealth, status, or connections.

Betty found it refreshing. It was nice to be friends with someone who didn’t want anything from her or her family. Ethel was a genuine soul, always willing to lend a hand, even to those who didn’t deserve her help.

On her first day as a student tutor, Ethel was assigned to help a football player struggling with pre-calculus. Chuck Clayton. Tight end. Scouted by Notre Dame and offered a full scholarship.

And sweet Ethel, who was just doing her job, ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The first person Betty called after everything went down was Chic.

The eldest Cooper child and only son, he would take on their father’s business one day. Not just his media empire, but the other, darker family business. The business people only whispered about. Guns, drugs, and today, murder.

“I can’t just sit by and watch this happen. She said no, but he wouldn’t stop, and the worst part is that he’s going to get away with it unless we do something about it,” she yelled into the phone. “I need a name. A number. Someone that can make this right.”

“Betty,” Chic said, his voice lowering, “I think it’s time for you to join the family.”

* * *

He took one last look through his notes as he packed up to leave the office. The only thing they were almost certain about was that BC was a woman. No man would be that theatrical, and the handwriting expert had said the words were more feminine than masculine.

Other than that, she was a ghost. No hairs, prints, fibers, or anything else that could tie BC to an actual human being. The gun she used changed with each kill. They tracked the paper to a chain stationery store that used it for wedding invitations. Any cameras or security systems in the buildings where the murders occurred were down, or the footage was mysteriously missing.

Each kill was meticulously planned, almost as if it was a trained killer for hire. They still hadn’t ruled that possibility out.

The men she killed - _always men, never women_ \- were powerful, well-connected, wealthy, or all three. He had his suspicions about the men. The very first victim had a string of sexual assault accusations, but no convictions. One of her later victims liked playing with guns, and while they never proved it, there was rumors that his obsession led to one or more deaths. Her most recent victim, Hiram Lodge, had sent his wife to the hospital with a shattered collarbone that no one had been able to prove was abuse. Oh yes, there were skeletons in those closets.

Eventually, though, BC would slip, and he would be the one to catch her. He was sure of that.

* * *

Before, she liked the theatrics of it. A black wig, red lipstick, her highest heels.

She got a reputation among Chic's men. When she came to his office, they knew to expect something big. And they were never disappointed.

As time went on, and the list got longer, it was the darker side that stayed with her.

The recoil of the gun as she pulled the trigger. The bright, sticky smear of fresh blood.

Street lights shining through windows, revealing blood-stained carpets.

Eyes staring back in fear as they made their peace with whichever god would have them.

After the first few, she discovered she liked it. A messed-up Robin Hood, where instead of stealing from the rich and powerful who stepped on the little people, she killed them.

The thrill of sneaking through the darkness. The rush of taking someone’s life.

Now, it was just plain fun.

* * *

He contemplated the tux as he got ready at his rundown apartment. Strange, how a $200 rental would somehow make him more acceptable among the people who would normally look down on him. The kid from the wrong side of the tracks with an alcoholic dad, a runaway mom, and a sister just trying to live a better life.

He’d made a better life for himself. He might not be rich enough to afford this thing on his own, but he was proud of how far he’d come. A home that was all his own, where he wouldn’t come home to the lights shut off. A job that he loved, even though it kicked his ass sometimes.

He wouldn’t let people with more money than sense make him feel less than himself. He put on the pants and the shirt, but added his signature suspenders. If he had to go into the belly of the beast, he’d do it on his own terms. He threw on the jacket and headed into the night.

* * *

_Evening Under the Stars_

_A gala to benefit local domestic abuse centers_

_Honoring Jason Blossom, Blossom Maple Syrup_

It would be easy for her to put back on the society mask that had been Alice Cooper’s shining achievement. The perfect daughter, perfectly dressed and poised, with the perfect life.

God, she hated that word.

But it was useful for times like this, when she had to be nothing more than a face in the crowd, dropping $500 on a catered dinner for whatever charity the society matrons had decided to bless with their support this week.

Ironic that it was a women’s shelter, considering the guest of honor.

Jason and Polly’s romance had seemed like a dream. The man set to inherit a maple syrup empire. The daughter of Senator Alice Cooper and a media mogul with rumored mob ties. Evenings at the symphony and ballet, summers in the Hamptons, a spontaneous weekend trip to Paris that ended in an heirloom engagement ring.

Until Jason discovered he would have none of the Cooper family’s wealth.

It seemed that maple syrup wasn’t as profitable as it used to be, and the Blossoms needed money, fast. Imagine their shock when the prenuptial agreement drafted by Hal Cooper himself landed on a paralegal’s desk at the law offices of Paul Sowerberry, Esq.

Jason’s facade cracked the second Penelope Blossom called him with the news that the iron clad prenup meant he would never see a cent of Cooper money. He left Polly, breaking her spirit with his verbal abuse. How he never loved her. How he just wanted her money. How he was planning to do away with her the second they were married.

She locked herself in her apartment, only opening the door when Betty threatened to call Alice Cooper back from D.C. When she saw Polly’s face, she knew what she needed to do. This time, it would be personal.

* * *

“I think I’m being followed. For the past few weeks, there have been men in black SUVs parked outside of my townhouse, my office, following me to the store, to the gym, wherever I go. They’re everywhere. I swear I’m not paranoid,” Jason said.

Jughead wanted to roll his eyes. The men in black following him around? Unlikely.

“I know the department appreciates your…financial support, Blossom,” Jughead said. “But I don’t understand what you need from me.”

“I just want someone there that can arrest these assholes if they show up. It’s a little terrifying to not be able to go anywhere without looking over my shoulder. I already paid for your seat, you have a tux, so please, just be there and keep an eye out,” Jason pleaded.

Jughead took a look around the luxurious suite Jason was occupying and reminded himself what Blossom money could mean for their small office. New equipment to replace the computers from the 1990s? Finally some training for the newer officers?

“Fine,” Jughead grudgingly agreed. “However, I’m not your body guard. I’ll be there, undercover, watching the crowd for anything suspicious. Act normal, and don’t give it away.”

Jason nodded solemnly. “Agreed.”

* * *

As she enters the ballroom, she immediately scopes out the bar. With the right tip to the right bartender, she has a built-in alibi for the night. _No officer, she was ordering drinks the whole time._

When she crosses the room, heads turn. She tried to stay under the radar, dressing in darker colors and leaving the jewelry behind, but her Cooper genes make that impossible. The understated black ball gown does nothing to help her blend in when she has Hal’s tall stature, Alice’s blonde curls, and the trademark Cooper blazing green eyes.

At least none of them will actually talk to her. The rumors about Hal and Chic’s _other_ business keep many people from associating with the Coopers.

Working her way up to the bar in between two women in outrageous jewels and dresses that show everything, she waves down the youngest looking male bartender. Giving him her best flirtatious smile, she asks, “Can I get a martini please?”

* * *

“And I’ll have a Glenfiddich 18 year, neat.” Jughead says, reaching around the blonde to pay the bartender.

“A man who knows what he wants. I like that,” she says as she turns and bats her eyelashes at him.

And he’s gone.

Her green eyes shine and her lips curve up in a smirk. As she turns back to the bartender to grab her drink, her hair swings over her shoulder, where one freckle is begging to be kissed. The back of her dress dips low, and he wants to put his hand right there and lead her to the nearest bedroom so he can take his time discovering what’s underneath.

“Your drink, sir?” the bartender asks. No need for that anymore, buddy. He’s drunk on her.

* * *

She needs to find Jason, but she has to admit, the man in front of her is distracting her from the carefully laid plans she had created.

He has one black curl hanging over his eye, and when he takes his drink from the bartender, he runs his hand through his hair to get it out of his face. His tux has seen better days, but underneath, his body looks tense, like he’s ready to spring into action at any moment.

He could be fun.

She holds out her hand to shake. “Betty.”

* * *

He grabs her hand and lifts it to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on her knuckles. “Jughead. And before you ask, I’m hoping my smooth move will distract you from asking about my name.”

She giggles, and he feels like his heart could pound out of his chest.

“Interesting name, but I won’t judge. Not if you walk me to my table?”

“Lead the way, my lady,” he says, gesturing in front of him.

* * *

It’s dangerous, she knows. She should focus on the mission at hand and not a pair of steel blue eyes. But she can’t help herself. For so long, she had been focused on revenge, and for once, it’s nice to do something just because she wants to.

And she definitely wants to do him.

“I’m at table nine. Where are you?” she asked, leading him towards the front of the room.

“Let me check,” he says, pulling out the card the hostess had given him. “Would you look at that? I’m at table nine too.”

She smirked at him. “What an incredible coincidence.”

“I think this was fate, actually.” He flirted back. “It was meant to be.”

* * *

Her eyes softened at the mention of fate, and he knew he would do anything this woman asked if she would just look at him like that.

“If it was meant to be, why is your name card on the other side of the table?” she asked.

“We’ll just have to fix that,” he winked. Looking around the table, he grabbed his name card from its place four seats over and switched it with the one next to her. _Sorry Reggie Mantle, better luck next time,_ he thought.

She laughed, and sat down as the band began to wind down their song to start the program.

While he had a job to be doing, he couldn’t help but watch her as the emcee started his speech. When she laughed at one of the jokes, he focused on the long line of her neck with her head thrown back. When they talked about the families they helped, he watched her eyes shine with happy tears.

As they introduce Blossom, a shadow passes over her face and her hand clench into fists.

“Do you know him?” he asks.

“Never met him,” she states flatly.

They sit through his speech, a moving tale of visiting a shelter and meeting a woman who barely escaped her abusive ex-husband with their two children. Betty’s fists don’t unclench until the applause starts, as Blossom asks the crowd to join him and welcome the woman to the stage.

As she lifts her hands to join in the applause, Jughead notices the red lines in the palm of her hand. He reaches over and grabs her hand, holding it between the two of his.

* * *

 After everything he did to Polly, he has the audacity to come to events like this and act like a champion of women. Maybe she should strangle him instead of shooting him. Make him really suffer.

Except Jughead is here. Holding her hand. And she feels the anger relax slightly. _No,_ she tells herself, _follow the plan._

This is her chance to make things right for Polly. She can’t afford to mess it up.

* * *

 He likes holding her hand. Her skin is soft, broken only by the indents caused by her nails.

He’s disappointed when their meal is delivered and he has to let go to eat.

She quickly remedies that by placing her left hand on his thigh. He looks down at it, then back at her.

“Is this okay?” she asks.

“Perfect,” _just like you._

* * *

They’re enjoying the dessert course and Jughead is making her laugh with stories about his younger sister, Jellybean, and how they got their crazy nicknames, when she hears a familiar voice calling her name.

“Betty Cooper, is that you?”

She’s almost disappointed that Veronica has chosen this moment to start the next phase of their plan.

“V, how are you? I haven’t seen you since the Humane Society gala!” Betty says as she stands to give Veronica a hug and air kisses.

“You know Mother. After Daddy….” Veronica trails off, her face darkening. “Well, she just needed some time away.”

Betty nods. “I’m so sorry, V. Please tell her I’m thinking of her, and I’ll stop by to see her soon.”

She’s not sorry though, and Veronica couldn’t give a shit.

Hiram Lodge was a mean son of a bitch. When Veronica came home from the city six months ago and found Hermione with a broken collarbone and bruises on her wrists that looked suspiciously like fingerprints, Veronica called Betty and they started to plan.

Veronica was the tech of their small but mighty operation. Someone would never know looking at her that underneath the pearls and designer clothes lay a mind full of code that could crack some of the greatest security systems in the world.

The Pembrooke’s outdated system was no match for her, even when the police stepped in and set up more sophisticated protocols.

Veronica was the reason that Betty was able to sneak in under the watchful eye of the police and fire the gun that ended Hiram Lodge’s abuse forever.

Veronica would be the one to help her kill Jason Blossom.

“And who might this be?” Veronica said, smirking at Jughead. “Is this your date, Betty?”

He lifted himself gracefully off of his chair and reached out to shake Veronica’s hand. “Jughead Jones, and no, I just met Betty at the bar earlier and we figured out we were sitting together.”

“Well, Jughead Jones,” Veronica wrinkled her nose at the nickname, “I’m Veronica Lodge. It’s nice to meet you. Betty, I’m heading to the ladies, do you want to come with?”

Betty nodded and grabbed her clutch. _Intel,_ she thought excitedly. “I’ll be back,” she said, leaning over and kissing Jughead’s cheek, catching both of them by surprise. “Don’t miss me too much.”

“I’ll try,” he said, still trying to remember how to breathe after her kiss.

* * *

Veronica rounded on Betty the second she entered the empty bathroom. “B, I didn’t know you had it in you! He’s hot, in that brooding artist kind of way.”

“He bought me a drink, we flirted a little, and we ended up at the same table. It’s nothing serious. Don’t forget, we’re here for a reason,” Betty said.

“Oh Betty,” Veronica sighed, “You need a little fun in your life. Plus, this might not be the night to strike.”

Betty was confused. “V, we’ve been planning this for two months! How could this not be the night?”

“Your boy toy isn’t who you think he is,” Veronica shared. “Jason got nervous after Chic sent those men to follow him. I’ve been monitoring his communications since we started planning and he asked for police protection this afternoon. Jughead,” she paused, looking Betty in the eye, “is the detective they assigned him.”

Betty couldn’t breathe. Just when everything was falling into place. But she was nothing if not a planner, and she knew what she needed to do.

“Screw it. We’ve done this under police surveillance before. If it’s just one man, we have an even better opportunity than last time when there was a whole squad. And,” she said with a glint in her eye, “I know just the way to keep him distracted.”

* * *

Jughead was checking his watch, counting down the minutes until the gala was set to end, when Betty and Veronica re-emerged from the bathroom. He saw them exchange a few words and a hug, and Veronica left the room while Betty headed back to their table.

“Was that Veronica Lodge, as in, the daughter of Hiram Lodge?” he asked.

She nodded stiffly. “A tragedy. I know Hermione was devastated. But,” she smirked, “let’s not talk about such depressing things. Do you want to dance?”

Without saying a word, Jughead grabbed her hand and let her onto the dance floor.

The band had started up a Sinatra classic, and Jughead pulled Betty close, placing a hand at the dip of her dress that had been teasing him since he caught sight of her at the bar.

“So I was thinking…” she started softly.

“That’s dangerous,” he teased.

She smiled and continued on. “I have a room upstairs, if you want to come up for a nightcap?”

Jughead quickly ran through his options. Leave Blossom here and go upstairs with the woman who had enchanted him. Tell Betty no and stick to his job. Or, force Blossom upstairs through whatever means necessary and meet up with Betty afterwards. _Door number 3, please._

“I’d love to,” said Jughead. “Why don’t you head up and I’ll meet you there?”

“Room 323,” she said. “Don’t keep me waiting too long.”

* * *

As she rode the elevator up to her room, she gave a jaunty wave to the camera in the corner, right before the red light disappeared. Veronica had done her job. No record of anything, from four hours before she got here through the four hours after she left.

_It would be like I was never here._

Stepping off at the third floor, she quickly headed down the hall. She needed to sweep the room, and fast. The all-black outfit. The gun and silencer. The custom-made stationary, sealed in a plastic bag to keep it free from prints. Everything went into her duffel bag and under the bed.

After one last check, she went to the minibar and pulled out the tiny bottles of liquor. Jughead was drinking scotch, so that’s what she’d put the pill in. Not a whole one, but just enough to put him under so she could sneak out without waking him.

She opened a bottle of Dewars and poured it into one of the glasses sitting on the counter, before using the base of the bottle to break open the pill. Half the powder encased in the pill went into the drink, while the rest was swept into the trash can.

She poured herself a shot of Grey Goose, and sat down on the bed to wait.

* * *

Jason didn’t look so well, Jughead noticed. It looked like he had enjoyed the wine with dinner a little too much, as he was staggering back to his table from the bathroom.

Jughead followed him to the table. “Blossom,” he said, nodding to the other man.

“Jones!” Jason slurred. “Sit with me, have a drink.”

“You know, I think you’ve had enough. Let’s go,” he said under his breath so only Jason could hear him.

Jason started to say something back, but saw the look in Jughead’s eyes and got the message to shut up. As Jason looked around, he realized the party was dying down.

“Fine, Jones,” Jason said, rolling his eyes. “I have better alcohol in my room anyway.”

Jughead practically carried Jason out to the elevator, hoping that Betty was safe in her room. He had seen the way she reacted to Jason, and knew there was a long, probably painful story there. If she saw him with Jason, he didn’t think he’d be getting a warm welcome.

He breathed a sigh of relief as the elevator doors closed behind them. He pushed the button for the 15th floor and tried to tune out Jason’s incoherent mumblings.

Until one phrase captured his attention.

“… if that bitch Polly Cooper hadn’t ruined everything….can’t believe that family…they’re all psychos…”

Cooper was a common name. Polly Cooper probably had nothing to do with Betty. But he couldn’t help but wonder.

“Jason,” Jughead said as the doors opened. “Who’s Polly Cooper?”

But Jason had fallen asleep slumped in the corner of the elevator.

Jughead sighed, and dragged him to the door of the suite. After digging through his pockets, he found the key card and unlocked the door.

It took a few tries, but Jughead finally got him on the couch in the sitting area. Closing the door behind him and checking that it was locked, he re-entered the elevator.

As he stood outside room 323, he took a deep breath, and knocked.

* * *

_His fist curling in her blonde hair._

_Her legs, wrapping around his waist._

_His lips, sucking the delicate skin of her neck._

_Her hands pushing the suspenders off of his shoulders and immediately going for the buttons on his shirt._

_His laugh as she falls backwards onto the bed._

_Her nails, scraping his back._

_His nimble fingers, lowering the zipper of her dress and finding nothing underneath._

“Juggie…”

* * *

He knew something was wrong when he woke to his work ringtone early the next morning.

“Get to the hotel, Jones. NOW."

“Archie?” he answered, bleary-eyed and fumbling with his phone to check the time. Five in the morning. “What’s going on?”

“Blossom is dead.”

Instantly alert, he said a quick goodbye and hung up the phone, reaching over to wake Betty. But the bed next to him was empty and cold, and her clothes were gone, like the night had been just a dream. The only reminder that she was here, that she was real, was the soft floral scent her perfume left behind. That, and the red lines her nails had raked down Jughead’s back.

Slowly, he got up to dress and meet Archie.

* * *

As she switched cars on Route 40 on her way back to the city, she thought of how peaceful Jughead looked when she left him, almost boyish, dreaming of pleasant things, while she crept out to do dirty deeds.

It was nice to have something positive to think of for once. For so long, her life had been a mess of red and black and death and darkness. Jughead was light and air, finally showing her the way back to normal life.

If only he wasn’t a cop. The detective who had been hunting her. The one person who could bring her carefully constructed life crumbling down.

But what a hell of a way to go.

* * *

He punched the elevator button frantically, willing it to get there faster. He had left Blossom passed out in his room with the door locked, and a few hours later, he was dead.

Blossom had been right to be worried for his safety. He should have taken it more seriously. But Betty...he had met Betty, and everything had changed, and now a man was dead.

When the elevator finally made it to the penthouse level, the hallway outside of Blossom’s room had been blocked with yellow crime scene tape. On the other side, Archie was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, scowling at Jughead. _Shit._

“What did you do, Jones? I asked you to watch him for one night, and this happens. A body, no leads, and another BC card.” He drew himself up to his full height and put his hands on his hips. “If I didn’t need you to explain it, you’d be on desk duty for three months.”

“Explain it? I brought him upstairs and he was alone. I watched him all -” _most_ “ - of the night and he was fine,” he questioned. “There was no first calling card! The pattern doesn’t match for BC.”

Archie pointed into the room. “Go take a look, you’ll see what I mean.”

It was surreal, entering this room again. Just hours earlier, it had been perfect, nothing out of place. Now, Blossom’s body was lying on the ground, a single bullet hole in his forehead and blood seeping into the carpet.

And next to the body, printed on a pristine white card in what would probably turn out to be Jason’s blood:

_Thanks for the drink, Detective Jones. - BC_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not a cop or a lawyer, so please don't take this as a good example of an actual criminal investigation. 
> 
> I don't own anything, except any mistakes in this chapter.

Betty Cooper.

She was a daydream and a nightmare all rolled up in one blonde package.

They had swept both rooms, Blossom’s suite and the room they had shared, but came away with nothing.

Archie’s eyebrows shot up and almost disappeared into his hair when Jughead sheepishly told the crime scene techs about the second room.

“We will be talking about this later, Jughead,” Archie said, grabbing his phone to dial the front desk and get a key. Something made him think it would be a closed door conversation with Archie doing the yelling.

Jughead led them to the third floor and the room they shared and was hit with a wall of memories the second the desk clerk opened the door. Holding her in his arms. The feeling of her hands running through his hair.

Hands that pulled the trigger to kill Jason Blossom and however many others.

48 hours later, he was back at his desk at the station, getting gawked at by most and sneered at by others. He had fucked up, big time, and the worst part was he couldn’t even feel sorry about it. As messed up as it had been to spend the night with a killer, he was still dreaming about her two days later.

He was in hell.

* * *

She was in heaven.

She figured that it was a little too hot for her in the city. It was dangerous, teasing Jughead like that, but danger kept her on her toes and alive.

So she left. Drove away and left all that in her rearview mirror, heading to the house upstate that Chic bought in case things went south. And from the little she had learned about Detective Jughead Jones, she knew things were going to go very south, very quickly.

She should have called the whole thing off the second Veronica told her the truth. If he had half a brain, which he definitely did, he would bring in Veronica. Chic. Probably even Hal and Alice. She laughed at the thought of him even attempting to interrogate Alice. She would eat him alive.

That is, if any of them even entered the department without calling a lawyer, which she doubted.

She just hoped they’d leave Polly alone.

Now here she was, swimming in the indoor pool by day, reading a collection of first editions and drinking fine wines by night. Yes, the mob money was good.

Chic warned her not to get too comfortable, that she’d have to go further underground once the cops started asking around. She’d even started deciding what country (without a US extradition treaty) would be the best place to spend the rest of her life.

She was leaning towards the Maldives. White sand beaches, turquoise oceans…

Jughead smiling down at her, bringing her a drink with an umbrella in it.

Well, fuck.

* * *

“Tell me everything,” Archie says.

So he does. How one drink turned into sitting together at dinner. The interruption by Veronica Lodge. Another drink in her room and how tired he suddenly felt and how quickly he fell asleep that night.

“Well, in my professional opinion,” Archie says. “You’re screwed.”

Jughead snorts. “Obviously.”

“The way I see it is you either pass the case onto someone else and go on paid leave or…” Archie trails off.

“Or what?” Jughead asks bitterly. “Hang around the department getting side eye from everyone in the building? Look at Jones, too busy thinking with his dick to actually catch a killer?”

“Or,” said Archie, looking him dead in the eye, “you bring her in and prove them wrong.”

Jughead smirked. “Oh, I plan to, and I know exactly where to start. I’m going to talk to Veronica Lodge.”

Archie nods. “Go get her, then.”

* * *

It’s only been a week, but she’s missing the city. Her favorite cupcake place, running in the park, shopping in vintage boutiques. Mostly, she misses the feeling of being a stranger in a city full of people, each with their own lives to live and stories to tell.

Out here in the middle of nowhere, the only people she sees are the ones on TV. She watches re-runs of crime shows and medical dramas and makes fun of the people hunting for houses.

Every night she watches the news, looking for mentions of her name or anyone associated with her. The news that Jason was murdered dies down in a few days, quickly lost in the shuffle of the numerous bad things that happen in the world every day.

If it wasn’t for the fact that Jughead Jones was on the case, it might be like any other time. Normally she’d wait a few weeks, then return to her day-to-day life and wait for the next one to come along.

Of course, this time she’d messed up and now a detective knew her name and nothing would ever be the same.

* * *

 “Really, Detective? Taking me from hot yoga in handcuffs? Bitsy Vanderbilt will lord this over me for the next year of Junior League meetings, not that she has anything to talk about after her husband’s drug problem,” Veronica says, rubbing her wrists where the handcuffs had left angry red marks. “Also, before we start, I’d like my lawyer to join me. He should be here - “

“ - Right here, Miss Lodge,” the man says as he enters the room and takes a seat next to Veronica. “Kevin Keller, representation for Veronica Lodge.”

Jughead checks his watch. 30 minutes. The Lodges and their sources work fast. He’d be impressed if it wasn’t for the fact that their questioning just got that much harder.

“I’m sorry for all the trouble, Miss Lodge. You’re not under arrest, we just have a few questions for you about Betty Cooper. The rookies get a little excited about bringing people in,” Toni says.

Keller spoke up at that point. “If Miss Lodge is not under arrest, I have to insist that this questioning not proceed -”

“It’s alright, Kevin,” Veronica interrupts. “I’ll happily answer any of their questions, but I have to say, I haven’t spent more than a few hours at a time with Betty since we were in high school. We mostly just attend some of the same charity events.”

She sits back in her chair, a smug smile on her face, like she knows they can’t touch her.

She’s right. The only connection is a society friendship, a few photos from events over the years, and their four years at a private high school outside the city. That doesn’t stop him from trying.

“You were at an event honoring Jason Blossom last weekend, correct?” Jughead questions.

Veronica laughs. “Oh, I think you know that for certain, Detective. It was good to see you taking an interest in the community.”

Toni continues. “And you spoke to Betty that night?”

Keller turns and whispers in Veronica’s ear before she puts up a hand to stop him.

“Yes, I spoke to her. I’m sure Detective Jones can fill you in on the conversation,” Veronica says, smiling at Toni.

“I already have. We’d appreciate hearing what you spoke about after that, when you two left the room,” Jughead says shortly.

Veronica looks straight at him. “Let’s see, she asked if I needed anything or if there was anything she could do, since as I’m sure you know, my father just died. Where are you on that, detectives?”

Toni cuts in. “We have a few leads and we’re working to get to the bottom of it. Did you and Betty speak about anything else?”

“Not that I can recall,” Veronica says. “She went back in and I left for another event. It was a very popular night and I was expected at a fundraiser for the opera. Speaking of which, I have a board meeting for the ballet in an hour, and I need to decompress since being carted away in handcuffs really ruined my post-yoga zen. Can I go now?”

“One last thing,” Jughead says. “Has she ever seemed violent, or unstable, to you?”

She levels a cool stare at him. “Never.”

* * *

The burner phone was ringing, for the first time since she had arrived at the house. “Hello?”

One word came across the line. “Serpent.”

Betty quickly hung up the phone.

Veronica wouldn’t call in that code unless it was an emergency, and she knew exactly what the emergency was.

Jughead knew, and he wasn’t going to stop until he figured it all out.

An hour later, and she’d created her game plan. She needed to get back to the city and she needed to talk to him and make him see her side, make him understand how she was helping more than hurting.

But first, she would make sure this was the only murder they could connect her to. A good lawyer could play the cards off as copy cats, but a hair or a fingerprint could be the key to linking her to years of crimes, or worse, to Veronica and Ethel.

The police might be able to get her, but she’d be damned if she took Veronica and Ethel down with her.

* * *

“But it doesn’t make sense. Why break the pattern now?” Toni asks. “There was no rose card, and from what I can tell, Blossom was a model citizen. So why did she kill him?”

Jughead removed his reading glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. They’ve been in the briefing room since 7 am, trying to connect the dots.

“Maybe we’re focusing on the wrong person,” he says. “Veronica was there that night, but from what we know that’s the only time she and Jason have ever been in the same room, and they didn’t even speak. There has to be a reason she slipped now.”

Toni casts her eyes over to the board covered in photos and notes. “Possibly something to do with the brother? Was Blossom connected to him at all?”

“When I spoke to him before the gala, Blossom said something about being followed,” Jughead answered, closing his eyes to think back to that night. “He said there were black SUVs following him everywhere he went. Maybe Chic Cooper's mob connections were the reason.”

“Wait. That name...Google Jason Blossom Page Six.” Toni orders, coming around to peek at the screen of his laptop.

“Celebrity gossip, Toni? Really?” Jughead questions, smirking. “I thought you were more of a world news kind of girl.”

Toni glares at him. “Just do it, _Forsythe_.”

He types the words into Google and is shocked to see thousands of results. “Looks like Blossom really got around while he was alive. Models, socialites…”

“There,” Toni stops him. “ _Is Syrup Heir Jason Blossom Engaged?_ Isn’t it odd that this supposed fiancee hasn’t come forward yet to speak to us?”

Jughead opens the link and they begin to read.

_Is heir to the Blossom Maple Syrup corporation Jason Blossom off the market? Blossom and his girlfriend of nine months, Polly Cooper, daughter of Senator Alice Cooper and Cooper Media Group chairman Hal Cooper, were spotted at Newark Airport on Monday morning after sources saw them wining and dining in Paris over the weekend. Cooper was sporting a new sparkler on a very important finger. We can only imagine how protective big brother Chic Cooper will react!_

“Holy shit,” he breathes.

Toni nods. “We need to talk to her.”

* * *

When she considers how many men she’s killed, she realizes that arson isn’t that big of a deal.

She’d called Chic to make sure that no one would be in the secure office building where they planned and schemed, but now that she was actually standing outside, she couldn’t bring herself to actually do the deed.

It was only a matter of time before they connected her to Chic, but it would take them months to get through his many aliases and properties to find this building, if they found it at all.

She still didn’t want to leave anything to chance.

She clenches her fists, takes a deep breath, and heads inside.

When she emerges ten minutes later, she glances up to the sixth floor window where she can just make out a dim light.

It takes 45 minutes for the whole building to go up in flames. Only then does she walk two blocks over to a payphone and dial 911.

* * *

Toni knocks on the door. It opens a crack, and he takes in the bags around Polly Cooper’s green eyes, the limp hair, and the spot on her lip where she’s bitten it till it bleeds.

“Miss Cooper?” Jughead asks softly, trying not to spook her. “I’m Detective Jones, and this is my partner Detective Topaz. We’re here about your sister, Betty.”

She opens the door a little more as her eyes widen in fear. “Betty? Is she alright?”

“I’d prefer to talk inside, if you don’t mind,” he says.

Polly swings the door wide and waves them into the living room.

“Can I get you two anything? Water?” Polly asks, ever the hostess that Alice made her to be.

“Actually, we’d prefer just to talk about Betty,” Toni says as they sit on the couch Polly offers.

“What about her?” Polly says, lowering herself into the armchair across from them.

“We have some questions. Tell me, when did you last see your sister?” Jughead asks, opening up his notepad and digging a pen out of his pocket.

“Well, I saw her a few days after…” she hesitates.

“After what?” Jughead questions, leaning forward slightly.

Polly takes a deep breath, exhales, and answers. “After Jason broke off our engagement.”

Jughead nods, writing down a few notes. “Jason Blossom?”

She tells them everything. How she and Jason fell in love, and how he fell out of it just as quickly. How he left her nearly suicidal after telling her he only wanted her for her family’s money, and how he planned to get rid of her after they were married.

Jughead’s starting to see Betty’s side of the story.

Every interview, every clue, every detail is a piece of the puzzle that is Betty Cooper. And every time a new piece falls into place, it gets harder and harder to blame her for what she did.

“Miss Cooper,” Toni starts slowly. “Jason Blossom was found dead a week ago.”

Polly’s face is indecipherable. “What does that have to do with my sister?”

Jughead and Toni share a look. “We think your sister had something to do with his death,” Toni says.

* * *

The noose was tightening.

The call from V. The office building. And now, after so many years and so much work keeping their family’s dark side from her, poor Polly was dragged into this whole mess.

She almost couldn’t believe it when she got Polly’s voicemail.

“Betty, I don’t know what the hell you’re up to, but the police just came to my apartment. THE POLICE. I would have expected this from Chic, but not you. And yes, I know about Chic and Dad, do you think I’m an idiot? I’m so angry right now I could scream. Call me back or I’m calling Mom,” she rants.

One night. One slip. And everything she’d worked so hard to build was crumbling around her ears.

She made up her mind. No more hiding. No more running away. There was only one thing left to do.

She picked up the burner phone and dialed the familiar number. “Chic? I need an address.”

* * *

 They were getting close. He could feel it.

“Jones.” Archie said, nearly causing him to jump out of his skin. “Go home, okay? You’re the first one in and the last one out, and I’m sick of seeing your ugly moping face.”

“Jesus, Arch. Give a guy a little warning next time,” Jughead said. “And I’m just finishing up this file and I’ll go - “

“Jughead.” Archie sat down in the chair next to his desk and looked him in the eye. “Get. Out. You’ve put in more hours than half of our detectives combined the past few weeks. Take the night off and get some real sleep.”

Jughead nodded, then got up to pack his things.

Three weeks had felt like a lifetime, searching case files, conducting interviews, reviewing crime scene photos. Anything to find Betty Cooper. What would happen after he found her was still up in the air.

It didn’t help that he had started seeing her everywhere he went.

The first time was in the coffee shop he stops in every morning before heading to the office. The blonde ponytail swung around her shoulders as she picked up a drink from the counter, and he broke from the line to grab her arm. But a pair of small blue eyes looked at him in terror and he released the stranger’s arm, murmuring an apology and retaking his place in line.

The second time is at his favorite Chinese place. He’s playing on his phone, waiting for the order he called in from the station. They call his name, and he looks up to meet a pair of clear, green eyes. He opens his mouth to shout out, and then notices the slight reddish tint of her hair. Another stranger.

He doesn't know how one night screwed him up so badly, but he needs to figure out a way to stop thinking of the girl and start thinking of the murderer.

He’s losing his damn mind and it’s all Betty Cooper’s fault. 

* * *

She walks the quiet streets and thinks of the things she’ll miss.

Polly and Chic. The nights they binged bad movies on Netflix and followed them up with 3 am trips to the diner around the corner.

Veronica. Ethel. The time they dressed up in their best outfits to go to a biker bar and drink cheap Budweiser and hustle at the pool tables. She got them into this, and she was going to get them out.

She’d even miss Jughead. She hadn’t felt normal in so long. That one night they shared had brought her back to earth, brought her back to herself. She needed keep him from losing himself to her darkness.

She turns right and stops. Using the dim light from the street lamps to see the numbers, she finds the one she’s been looking for and heads inside.

* * *

As he drives home, he tries to reason with himself.

_She's a killer._

_She’s killed dozens of men._

_She deserves to go to jail._

But he can’t convince himself to feel anything but remorse.

Every time she killed a man, it’s because the system had failed another woman. He can’t blame her for taking matters into her own hands, but as a detective, he’s supposed to be on the right side of the law. Killing another person is definitely on the wrong side.

It should be black and white, but with Betty, everything is shades of gray.

As he climbs the stairs to his third floor apartment, he digs his keys out of his pocket. He puts the key in the lock, but notices the line of light shining out from under the doorway. Pulling out his gun, he puts his ear against the door and listens.

Nothing.

Carefully, cautiously, he turns the key until it clicks. Turns the handle, and slowly pushes the door open a crack.

Pointing the gun forward, he opens the door fully and sees her, sitting at his kitchen table, with a glass of wine in her hand.

“Hello again, Detective Jones,” Betty says, lifting the glass to her lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking one more chapter in this. I'd love to hear what your theories on what's next ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are, the final chapter. It’s been a ride. Thanks for waiting out my unexpected month-long hiatus.  
> Once again, I don't own anything (except my mistakes).  
> More notes at the bottom!

“I understand if you want to bring me in, but please, before that, let me explain,” Betty begs.

He’s speechless. Two years of searching and this is what it comes down to. A showdown in his shitty apartment with a serial killer. Except...it’s almost impossible to find the murderer who’s been eluding him for years in the girl he spent one incredible night with.

“I’m not sorry,” she says, taking his silence as a sign to continue. “They deserved it. And these women - Polly, Veronica, Ethel - they all needed someone to stand up for them, and I wasn’t going to let those assholes get away with it. Every time I…” she stops, putting her glass down and standing in front of Jughead, as if she’s killing time to find the right words. “Every time I took care of someone, there was always a reason.”

“How many?” he asks.

She hesitates, and gently shakes her head. “It’s better for both of us if I don’t say.”

He sits heavily in the chair she just vacated and puts his head in his hands. “After everything you’ve put me through, you can’t even be honest with me?”

“Not because of that,” she quickly interjects. “I trust you, Jughead.” She closes her eyes and rushes the words out. “I don’t want to suck you into...all of this. This darkness. And telling you the names, the numbers - you’re a good person, and I won’t be responsible for ruining your life.”

Jughead chuckles darkly, his eyes narrowing as he looks up at her. “It’s a little too late for that, don’t you think?” She’s twisted him around to the point where he doesn’t know up from down and wrong from right.

“This is too much for me, Betty,” he says, almost too quietly for her to hear. “I feel like I should be calling my superiors right now and taking you to jail, but I would never forgive myself.” Their eyes lock and he can read the question in her clear green eyes.

“We went and saw your sister.” Her face falls and her fists clench at her sides.

“Jason Blossom destroyed her. I couldn’t let him get away with it.” Her eyes are glassy and her breath stutters. “I deserve whatever punishment I’ll be given. But don’t ask me to apologize for what I’ve done, especially when it’s helped so many women find their way back into the light.”

“I know, Betty.” He reaches out to wrap her fingers in his, pulling her nails away from the soft flesh of her palm. “That’s why I love you.”

It’s like a switch has flipped. Her eyes brighten and the corners of her mouth turn up into a soft smile. “Jughead...I love you too.”

And suddenly he’s kissing her and her glass is shattering against the tile as he lifts her into the air and sits her down on the kitchen table and he’s missed this, missed feeling her in his arms, missed the incredible rightness he feels when they’re together.

She pulls his lower lip between her teeth and he breaks their kiss with a moan, bringing his forehead to rest against hers. “Fuck, Betts. Don’t go,” he begs.

Looking him in the eye, Betty smiles and hops off the table. “Never,” she promises as she grabs his hand and leads him down the hall towards his bedroom.

* * *

She sits quietly, watching his chest rise and fall as he sleeps peacefully on the bed next to her.

When she asked Chic to find Jughead's address, she expected to be greeted by a pair of handcuffs, some angry yelling, a short ride in a police car, then 25 to life in maximum security.

He had surprised her once again, with declarations of love and understanding, the first time anyone had ever told her that they got it, got why this was so important to her.

She'd never been in love. She loved her siblings, of course, Veronica and Ethel, sometimes even her parents, if they were having a good day. She'd never experienced that all-consuming, madness-inducing, I'd-give-everything-for-him kind of love, however.

Now she knows how it feels. She would give everything for Jughead, even her freedom. If he put her in cuffs when he woke up, she would go willingly and say thank you.

First though, she'd give him a better option.

* * *

 

He wakes with a start at the sound of clinking glasses in the kitchen.

A little part of him thought she would sneak out in the middle of the night and disappear, this time for good. At least she stayed to say goodbye.

She smiles sheepishly as he turns the corner into the kitchen, pulling his shirt a little farther down her legs where it’s ridden up from reaching into the cabinet. “I wanted to make us some coffee, but it looks like you’re out of beans and pretty much everything else.”

Running a hand through his hair, he smiles back at her with the same sheepishness. “Yeah, I’ve been working long hours lately and eating a lot of takeout.”

She laughs and nods her head. “I saw the Chinese containers in the fridge.”

An awkward silence falls over the kitchen. They haven’t ever had time to just be together and get to know each other, but he can tell Betty’s uncomfortable about something.

“I can run out and get some breakfast? Or order in?” he suggests, figuring she won’t want to go out into the morning light and risk getting caught.

“No, it’s fine. I actually need to tell you something.” She grabs his hand to knit their fingers together and leans into him, like she’s drawing strength from his presence. “I’m going away - out of the country. Most likely for a few years, maybe for good.”

He’s been waiting for this, waiting for her to run from him, from the city, from the past that means she’s going to end up in jail. “I see.”

“Come with me,” she pleads. “My brother has it all planned. A house on the beach, two passports, and enough money in offshore accounts that we could live comfortably for years. Just say yes and I’ll make it happen.”

His job. The apartment. Jellybean.

“I can’t.”

She nods, tears filling her eyes.

“Betty, I love you, but I have responsibilities here. My job, my sister…” he takes a deep breath. “I can’t. I need some time to wrap my head around all of this. I’m sorry.”

“I get it, Jughead. I’m sorry too. About bringing you into this, about running away, about…” she pauses.

“What?” He asks, as she wraps her arms around him and buries her face into his chest. “What?”

“About this,” she responds, as he feels a sharp pain in his neck and everything around him goes black.

* * *

The syringe had been Chic's compromise for letting her go alone. "I won't let my baby sister get taken away if there's anything I can do about it" were his exact words.

Chic's plan had been to offer Jughead the option of coming with her and put a bullet between his eyes if he said no. "His apartment isn't in the best part of town, we can play it off as a burglary gone wrong!"

She'd talked him down from that, thankfully.

So a small syringe filled with thiopental was the backup plan, and she was seriously regretting it as she tried to drag Jughead's unconscious body down the hall to his bed.

Once she got him into bed, she'd leave. Leave and never come back, leave and never see him again.

It hurt just to think about it.

After another 45 minutes of struggling and some very inventive counterbalancing with a side table, she finally tucks Jughead under the covers. Placing a kiss on his forehead, she gets up to leave and the corner of the brown envelope peeking out of her bag catches her eye.

Or maybe, she doesn't have to leave him for good.

Slipping across the kitchen tile in her socked feet, she digs in the drawers until she finds a pen and a piece of paper, and starts to write.

* * *

His phone’s three-note text alarm sounds through his bedroom, the screen bright against the fading light of sunset. Leaning over, he grabs it from his nightstand and opens the message from a private number.

_You have three months. All of the documents you need are on the kitchen table._

He knew she wouldn’t give up.

Rushing to the kitchen, he grabs the manila envelope and almost tears it open in his haste to see what Betty left him. He’s not surprised by the passport and plane ticket after the text and their conversation this morning, but it’s the paper with his name scripted on the outside fold that he really wants.

_Jughead -_

_I couldn’t risk you following me if you weren’t going to come with me. I’m sorry about that._

_If you do change your mind, you’ll find the first step of the plan here. More instructions will follow. Three months was all I could promise to take care of matters at home. I hope that’s enough time. I promise, someday we’ll find a way to come back, but until then, we would at least have each other._

_Even though we had so little time, I want you to know that the times we were together were the happiest of my life. I don’t deserve you, but I’m glad to know that even in my dark world, there’s one spot of light and goodness._

_So come find me, Detective Jones. I’ll be waiting._

_I love you._

_BC_

* * *

_BC, Revisited: 10 Years Later_

_A red rose. A single bullet hole. A life lost._

_It was 10 years ago today that notorious serial killer BC took the life of one of our city’s best and brightest and vanished without a trace. In life, Jason Blossom was known for his charming personality and his connection to the Blossom Maple Syrup empire, but in death, he was the final victim claimed by this gruesome killer._

_Nearly four years after that day, Detective Forsythe “Jughead” Jones published his true crime retelling of the case that dominated his life and led to his retirement from police duty at only 30 years old, merely four months after Blossom’s murder. “A Gunshot in July” was an unprecedented success that captivated the nation and shot to the top of bestseller lists within a few weeks._

_Jones declined to give interviews or participate in publicity tours, preferring to let the book speak for itself. And speak it did. With incredible detail, “A Gunshot in July” set the scene of BC’s still unsolved killings and painted the story of a vigilante bringing justice on behalf of every woman who had ever dealt with a man who wouldn’t take no for an answer. “A Gunshot in July” revealed the incredible history of each of BC’s victims and made readers everywhere cheer for the villain._

_Legal battles quickly followed, with the families of the victims crying libel. Jones was forced to pay out millions in damages and issue an apology to those families, as no firm proof was ever provided to support Jones’s claims. The interest only grew following the court cases and fans began to look for their own supporting information. Many took sides on the truthfulness of Jones’s storytelling and how reliable the novel really was, given the rumors from inside the police department about his brush with the real BC._

_Thanks to these rumors and a mysterious dedication - "To BC, you're welcome" - armchair sleuths and would-be Sherlocks still question the retelling and the many details that seemed to be missing from the narrative around the night Jason Blossom was killed. The one story Jones didn’t reveal is the one everyone wants to know. Why Jason Blossom, and what actually happened at that gala?_

_Jones himself won’t tell. The famously reclusive author has traveled the world to escape the questions and the negative press that seems to arise every time he makes a public appearance. He wouldn’t even respond to our requests for an interview for this article. One thing is certain: BC has changed his life, and ours, forever._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yes, the murderer gets away and they go travel the world together because it's Bughead and they always need a happy ending.
> 
> Sadly, this is the end of BC and Detective Jones. I really enjoyed writing this, and I'm glad other people enjoyed reading it.
> 
> Your comments, kudos, views, good vibes, etc. are an incredible inspiration, especially my first fic in a new fandom. You guys definitely got me through a lot of writer's block and "what-ifs". You’re all the greatest and I’m thankful for all of you!


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